


Tissue Issues

by mycitruspocket



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 10:32:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9719033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mycitruspocket/pseuds/mycitruspocket
Summary: It keeps catching Arthur’s eye, the tissue box on his coffee table.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For sweet-butter-bliss, happy Valentine's!  
> Your prompt was "tissues" and I tried not to go there, but my brain did anyway. Sorry. ;)
> 
> Thanks, as always, to kate_the_reader and Erasmus_Jones for all their help!

It keeps catching Arthur’s eye, the tissue box on his coffee table. Thanks to the open floor plan of his apartment, he can basically see it from every corner. It only stands there because he had a terrible cold that lasted weeks. A few boxes had been scattered around the place for his annoying sneezing fits and this one here — the refillable one with the flashy pink and yellow print that hurts his eyes every time he looks at it — is the last one remaining. His nose has stopped running now but oddly enough, he has got used to its presence on the designer table he normally likes to keep clear of stuff, apart from his pretty felt coasters that protect his even prettier polished wooden tabletop.

But things change. He also finds he got used to Eames’ frequent and mostly unannounced visits. Now that he thinks about it, it must have been Eames who bought the garish but practical thing into his apartment in the first place, when Arthur was so out of it that he couldn’t even leave the house to run the necessary errands. Well, it’s not like it’s in the way or anything, and there are still tissues left in it, so he can keep it a bit longer, use them up before throwing the box away.

In the following weeks however, it’s not Arthur who uses up all the remaining tissues. It’s Eames, of course, because everything seems Eames-related these days.

One evening, Eames stays for dinner. Arthur can’t even recall how it happens, but Eames is currently swinging a spatula in his rarely used kitchen. It looks like he’s making some kind of pasta with the few ingredients he can find in the cabinets. Which is, honestly, not much, so Arthur doesn’t expect the food to smell so delicious when Eames holds out the plate to him.

Eames heads straight for the couch with his own plate and flops down on it instead of sitting down at the dinner table. Arthur watches him as he places one of the beer bottles he brought neatly on the coaster and begins eating from the plate in his hands.

He waves Arthur over and smiles. “Come on, darling, it’s getting cold!”

So Arthur crosses the room to sit down beside him but in his happy-nervous excitement about this whole situation, he manages to knock over the beer bottle. Eames catches it before it spills much, and Arthur is still admiring his fast reflexes when Eames, after wiping away the foamy liquid with some of the tissues from the nearby box, leans back and resumes eating.

“I’ll cook you something proper next time, promise. But it’s not that bad, considering the state of your cupboards,” Eames says with a smile, encouraging Arthur to finally taste the food. Of course it tastes as amazing as it smells and Arthur instantly relaxes into the couch cushions.

“This is actually the best food that’s ever left this this kitchen,” Arthur says and points enthusiastically at his plate with the spoon. “You are good at this,” he tells Eames around a mouthful of pasta and smiles back at him, hoping he’s still going keep his promise despite the praise.

“Oh darling,” Eames laughs, but Arthur is pretty sure he doesn’t imagine the fondness in his voice.

*

Another night Eames is sobbing his way through a terrible old soppy movie on Arthur’s couch. He blows his nose shamelessly loud, needs tissue after tissue, wipes his wet eyes with them and looks at Arthur with an odd mix of sadness and delight. It’s far more fascinating to watch than the stupid movie.

“I’m an ugly crier, I know, but I bloody love this film,” Eames says, sighs and then blows his nose again.

Ugly? No, he’s utterly beautiful like this, with his blotchy, pink cheeks and wet, wide eyes. Arthur almost has the courage to tell him, almost. A fond chuckle escapes him instead.

When the credits eventually roll Eames’ chest heaves again, he sniffles and Arthur holds out the tissue box for him, shifting closer in the process. Eames pulls out five tissues in a row in a dramatic flourish and Arthur can’t help but hug him close while he gradually calms down.

*

When Eames keeps his promise to cook something proper for them, Arthur sets the table in the dining area simply because that’s where he always eats. But Eames insists on serving at least the messy but delicious looking chocolate dessert on the sofa.

“It’s just more cosy, you know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Arthur nods, because yes, eating with his knee pressed against Eames’ and with his warmth right there beside him, is definitely more cosy. He realises he wants to eat like this every day, fuck the dinner table.

Eames keeps looking at him between spoonfuls of chocolatey goodness and Arthur licks his lips, smearing the chocolate around further rather than licking it away. Eames just smirks and reaches for the box on the coffee table. He pulls out a tissue and carefully wipes at the corner of Arthur’s mouth.

“Really, Eames? Took you for the guy to kiss it away,” Arthur says and it’s his turn to smirk now because he’s done waiting, he knows what he wants now.

“Did you now?” Eames says, voice low, and cocks his head. “And what about a kiss for the cook?”

Later, Arthur can’t remember who leaned in first, because it all happened so quickly and his head's still spinning. What he will remember for a long time is reaching for the tissue box for the first time in weeks and finding it empty. Now he frowns at his hand and then at Eames’ naked stomach, both covered in come, but he’s too lazy in his post orgasmic haze to get up now.

Eames just shrugs, pulls him down on top of him and brings Arthur’s fingers to his lips. “I’ll buy a refill for it later, love,” he says and breathes against Arthur’s fingers before sucking them into his mouth.


End file.
